As We Change
by Cheeky Slytherin Lass
Summary: After a crash and a head injury, Sam finds himself under Bucky's care.::for Lo


_For Lo_

_Word Count: 1161_

* * *

Sam groans, slowly blinking awake. He tries to move, crying out as pain shoots through his body.

_What the hell?_

He tries to remember what happened for him to end up like this, but it's all a blur. He remembers Steve. The two of them were halfway to Queens, following a lead on… He can't remember. All he remembers is noise and movement and pain.

"You're awake."

That isn't Steve's voice. Sam's eyes follow the sound, resting on Bucky. He scowls. As if it isn't bad enough that he's injured; now he has to deal with Bucky's smug ass too.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Sam snaps.

Maybe there's no actual need to be so harsh. After all, he and Bucky are on the same team now, and he knows that Steve wants them to get along more than anything. It's easier said than done. Sam doesn't exactly _hate _Bucky anymore, but his life would be a lot more peaceful if the dude would go back into one of those chambers and freeze for a while longer. At least until Sam has retired.

Bucky doesn't acknowledge him at first. He sets a pizza box down on the coffee table before moving closer, studying Sam curiously like he expects Sam to jump up and start performing tricks.

"The fact that you're alive is a miracle," Bucky tells him. "I suppose you wouldn't remember. You did hit your head pretty hard."

At the mention of his head, Sam lifts his hand, carefully pressing his fingertips along his temple, slowly moving along. There, just behind his ear, he feels a knot and hisses. When he pulls his hand away, he sees the faint traces of blood on his fingers.

"What the hell happened?" Sam sits up, ignoring the fire that seems to flood his veins with the movement. It's a terrible idea. Within seconds, he feels dizzy and falls back down, scowling up at the ceiling.

Maybe he remembers a little. He can't be sure. Noise, movement… A fight. There had definitely been a fight. He had taken to the air, as he always does…

"I feel like I got hit by a bus."

"Technically, you hit the bus," Bucky says, opening the pizza box. "Well, it was a van. But you still hit it."

"How?"

He has control over the wingpack. How many times has he used them? They may as well be part of his actual body. Sam knows them the way he knows any other part of himself. It's been years since he crashed while using them.

"Your wings malfunctioned," Bucky explains. "You dropped hard. One of the perps disabled your wings, and… Well, I thought you were dead."

_Thought or hoped, _Sam wants to say, but he bites back the retort. He knows Bucky well enough by now to know how dangerous he is. If he wanted Sam dead, he could have killed him at least a hundred times over by now.

"Pizza? It's supreme. Brooklyn style crust."

Sam's brows raise curiously at that. It's his favorite. He wonders how Bucky could know that. "No thanks."

"I haven't poisoned it," Bucky says, frowning.

Sam shrugs. "Never said you did." He looks around. "Cap hiding out somewhere?"

"He went on to Queens to finish up," Bucky answers before grabbing a pizza slice and biting into it. "I told him I would take care of you."

"So. You just happened to be where an attack happened?" Sam asks.

It's an unfair question. Bucky has proven time and time again that he can be trusted. Even so, Sam struggles with letting go. Brainwashed or not, Bucky is still a pain in the ass.

But he was there.

"I just happen to be wherever Steve is more often than you realize." Bucky's tone is sharper now, and Sam can hear the faintest traces of an underlying threat in his voice.

Sam doesn't like that. His wings are missing, as is his gun. If it came down to a fight, he thinks he could hold his own for a little while, but he doesn't like his chances against a ruthless former mercenary. To calm the situation, he holds his hands up, palms outward, showing that he is not a threat.

"Well, I'm glad you were," Sam says. "I know Steve would have tried to save me, but I wasn't a priority."

"Not like I could just leave the man I loved behind."

Sam's mind races as it tries to process what Bucky has said. _The man I loved. _It's almost laughable. As far as he can tell, he and Bucky can barely stand each other.

But Bucky blushes so deeply, and his eyes are wide with a horror that silently says _I didn't mean to say that. _

It makes sense, really. He's caught Bucky staring more than once. All those times, Sam had assumed Bucky was plotting his death. Could it really be something more? Sam wants to cling to _impossible, _but Bucky's face speaks volumes.

He should mind. Even if Bucky feels a certain way, Sam doesn't. He can't stand Bucky, and that's the way it will always be.

Except the slip of the tongue is something of a relief. Something in him stirs, but Sam can't quite name it. _Hope, possibility. _Nothing quite encompasses the fluttering that erupts in his stomach and finds its way to his chest.

"You love me," Sam says, incredulous.

Bucky shrugs. "I didn't exactly try to hide it."

Sam laughs, and it hurts. The pain is no longer dull; it is suddenly fire again, fresh and scorching every nerve in his body.

"Careful. What's so funny anyway?"

"You don't try to hide it."

Bucky shakes his head. "I don't."

Maybe that's genuinely what he believes. Bucky is terrible with people, so he may actually think he has been openly flirting with Sam. Now he wonders if Bucky's horror earlier had been confessing his feelings or being horrified that maybe it was too soon to use the l word.

"Whatever you say." Sam tries to sit up again, only to quickly realize his mistake. He groans.

"You really didn't know?" Bucky presses.

"Not a clue."

Silence hangs between them. It is tense and heavy, and Sam hates it.

"Maybe I shouldn't have said anything," Bucky mutters.

"No. I'm glad you did." Sam can't explain why, but it's true. There's something liberating about it. "I don't… I've never stopped to consider it or ask myself how I feel about you."

At least, he hasn't pressed too deeply into his feelings. Sam has never been that type. He handles what's in front of him, then he moves on.

"I think… I think I might be open to figuring things out."

He doesn't know what it means or what will come of this. All he knows is that Bucky smiles at that, and, for one moment, his smile is enough to make Sam forget all the pain in the world.


End file.
